


Camming

by bonehandledknife (ladywinter), Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)



Series: The Mountains Are The Same [27]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Citadel Politics, Dragons, Gen, New Citadel and siege prep and integration, Podfic Welcome, Post-Canon, Storytelling, Warboys dealing with a post-Joe world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-28 18:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5101502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladywinter/pseuds/bonehandledknife, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/Primarybufferpanel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camming—The act of rotating into place until wedged or tight.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Ace woke several hours later, sometime not long after sunset, and the heavy weight on his chest turned out to be Furiosa. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ace woke several hours later, sometime not long after sunset, and the heavy weight on his chest turned out to be Furiosa. She'd half draped herself over him, and while the others had apparently left at some point - what he could see through the window suggested it wasn't _too_ late - he'd fallen asleep right along with her.

Best sleep he'd had in a long time. Ace took a little time to look at her, her sleeping form pressed up close against him, so obviously pleased to be there that he could feel it filling in the cracks inside of him. They were all right. They were going to be, at least. He was her Ace. It was identity and acceptance and responsibility all at once and it settled him into place.

He lightly rested his hand against her upper back, as always surprised of how his hand spanned her entire shoulder blade. With all her power and blazing heat, she was still never as large as he perceived her to be.

A shadow moved by the window, and it was the Wastelander, waking up too. Ace could see the gleam of his eyes as he watched Furiosa. The Wastelander might not have taken his place, ill-suited for the role as he was, but he seemed to care as much as any crew and had brought back for them both resources and men.

Ace was suddenly restless. The thought of Lance being the one to influence those newly arrived Warboys sat uneasily in his stomach. They might be open to the new way of doing things, but not if Ace didn't seek them out, if Furiosa’s crew didn't use their influence. If they let Lance have his way, the twitches of resistance might turn into a real rebellion. He needed to get up and take stock of their new situation.

He started trying to edge out from under Furiosa, and she made a sleepy, disgruntled little noise that made him smile. Her hand came across his chest to tuck against his ribs, effectively keeping him where he was. It was cold in her quarters, and she clearly disagreed with the source of heat trying to move away. His eyes found Max in the gloom. Ace motioned his head in invitation, and after what felt like a long time, the other man slipped down from the ledge.

If it had been one of the warboys, Ace might have chuckled with the careful way they cooperated to detach Furiosa from him and let her latch onto the other man instead. But Max was quiet, a little tense with Ace's closeness. Once he'd taken Ace's place and Ace moved away, he relaxed, murmuring quietly to Furiosa, pulling blankets back over them both.  

Ace left them to tangle up in each other, confident for the first time in weeks that there would be space for him by her side again later.

 

He found Austeyr, Rachet and Kompass in the area both the remaining and new warboys had been given for use, well above the old barracks deep in the bowels of the Citadel towers. It was far more luxurious than the barracks, not nearly so damp and cold at night, but he saw a few warboys stand around uneasily, chatting and feeling each other out, figuring out hierarchy. Then from one of the doorways—

"Ace! Old man!"

He spun around.

"Treb!"

His friend darted in for a lightning-quick embrace and a slap on the shoulder, then back.

"Don't sound so surprised, man, did you give up on me?"

"You know I'd never give up on you," Ace assured him solemnly.

"And I'm never gonna let you down," Treb replied, grinning. Ace wasn't used to seeing him without paint - wasn't used to seeing himself without paint, really, and clearly Treb himself was uneasy with it.

"So what's been going on with you?"

“There’s so much I havta catch you up on!” Treb glanced over the war boys, “It’s been a long couple’a days, lemme tell ya.”

“You too?” Ace said, with feeling.

 

* * *

 

Dag found herself sitting with her knees pulled in when Cheedo and Gale came up to her. She waited for them to say something but they just sat next to her with matching sighs and simply waited. Dag folded her arms around her legs more and rested her chin on them.  The wind was moving a bit of hair on the side of her head and she scratched it a bit and tried to put it behind her ear. It slipped out again and that seemed like just an additional indignity.

To her right, Cheedo was twisting her fingers into her wristlet, the matching one to Dag’s. To her left, Gale was looking mildly off at the horizon, scanning it in sweeps. It looked habitual. Dag returned her gaze back to center and stared off into the middle distance some more, waiting for them to yell at her.

“They shouldn’t be painted.” She blurted out, when they didn’t speak.

“There’s lead in the paint, yes.”

“The pups shouldn’t be painting themselves like _Joe_.”

“I don’t think that means,” Cheedo glanced up and then back down at her fingers, “that you can just yell at the pups for it.”

She’d found some pups earlier that day that were smearing themselves with the fine grey clay  that could be found around the pipes leading out of the aquifer. Dag had told them not to do it, gave them all the reasons but they just gave her stubborn faces and continued slathering it over themselves. And maybe they looked like they were about to cry but Dag felt like that too. _Why_ would they paint themselves like that abuser? Why would they do even _anything_ reminiscent of him?

Maybe she'd gotten a little loud.

“But someone had to _say_ it.” Dag insisted. Someone always had to say the hard truths and keep them all from being worn down in the Vault from all the pressure that Joe and his attendants put on them to just be quiet and do as they’re told. It used to be Angharad and her, both.

Now it’s only her; and Dag found herself harried with wondering how to make up for Angharad’s absence. She felt alone. Capable folded herself easily into healing and Toast amongst the Vuvalini and even Cheedo seemed to have buried herself in War pups.

“Who were you saying it for though?” Gale asked.

“For _them_ of course! How could we let them grow up like… like.”

“Think they’d go their own way if you push them that hard.”

“At least it made some of them _think_.” Dag insisted, remembering the way a couple of the pups hesitated.

It was silent for a while.

“Did you see the Ace today?" Gale said finally. "Sunburned. Red as Capable’s hair all across the shoulders.”

Dag opened her mouth to ask what that had to do with anything, but then recalled how painfully red some of the pups were. Some had been grimacing as they smoothed on the mud, as if touching anything to their skin hurt. Dag remembered how much her left shoulder had hurt after the first day out of the Vault, the cheek that had been turned to the rig window. How Keeper had taken one look at her and dug out a shawl so she could cover herself.

"The warboys won't say anything, I don't think," Gale mused. "They're supposed to just bear pain. Complaining would be weakness to them."

“Mmph.” Dag replied sullenly, mouth returning to press against her knees. She can’t say that they should be silent, because she believes in speaking out. But the war pups shouldn’t paint themselves. None of them should paint themselves or style themselves in any way like Joe.

This was their _chance_ , like that Feng said, to put in new laws, to finally _change_ things for the better, all the plans and dreams they had while in the Vault. So why wasn’t it _working_? Why was it taking so _slow_? Had life under Joe been so good to the schlangers that they didn't want change?

It was a terrifying thought and it made Dag want to push every war boy off the Citadel like Angharad pushed that war boy off the Rig.

What would Angharad have said? _We are not things_.

Those war boys they talked to, Furiosa’s crew, they’d seemed nice until suddenly foulness came out of their mouths, cutting her and her sisters down to units of ‘worth’. Into being a _Thing_. That meeting they had, ‘Tenday’, making that room loud with their noise and their yelling and remembering all the killings and dreadful things. Was that all really necessary? Did all that violence really need to be storied and celebrated?

Could the culture of War _really_ help make them a new Green Place, or would it just be more anti-seeds, planted?

"When you didn't want to wear the white cloth anymore, did you just.. take it off?" Gale said.

"Yes? It kept us exposed, vulnerable." Dag frowned and looked down at her heavy canvas trousers.  "Well, not before we got these."

"Mm."

"But paint is not like clothes. It's not like we're taking away their trousers!" But even as she said it, she remembered the way that the tiny War Pup’s shoulders suddenly became hunched in on themselves, uncertain, when they’d first got the paint removed.

Remembered the way even the big warboy, Furiosa's Ace, had looked uneasy, as if he'd felt naked but was trying to be all right with it.

Dag knew what it was like, to be naked and trying to be all right with it. She'd just… never imagined a warboy, let alone _that_ warboy, would feel that way. “It’s not like we’re Joe; we _can’t_ be Joe to them, it just doesn’t work that way!”

“Said nothing like that,” Gale said quietly, still scanning the wastes. “Nothing about Joe at all.”

Dag’s mouth clicked shut.

But didn’t it all go back to Joe? How could war boys be anything but Joe’s? He'd made them. Painted them up like toys, set them up to fight…

And then Dag remember Angharad calling them _Battle Fodder_. Thought about how she thought of them just now as _toys_ , some _thing_ made, some _thing_ they needed to change into some _thing_ better, an any _thing_.

Maybe. Maybe also... _They_ are not things, too.

But she didn’t like looking at them, all whitened and yelling and large. She didn’t really want to be around them, and she didn’t want to trust them, and—

And—

“I’m scared,” Dag finally admitted, quietly. “And I’m angry.”

“Yeah,” Cheedo replied, leaning into her shoulder. “I…” She started saying, stopped, and when Dag turned to look, Cheedo swallowed hard and blinked hard, “Dag, I never feel like I can thank you enough for. For covering for me. Taking my place when Joe—”

“Shush,” Dag dropped her head to rest against Cheedo’s. She didn’t really have the energy to think about it.

Gale patted her gently on her far shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Dag came to a halt in front of where Ace was sitting on a low ledge. He looked up at her, maybe a little warily at the way she towered over him. She supposed that didn't happen much.

"Warboy."

He raised his eyebrows, and she saw the way he flexed his huge hands, put them on his knees as if deliberately showing her they weren't near weapons. Not that it made much of a difference; he had to be twice the size of her. He could break her like a twig if he'd had a mind to, and the only thing stopping him was that Furiosa would not be happy with him if he did. She hoped that was enough.

(She still couldn't think about him curled up behind Furiosa, about those huge, rough hands on her. How could she stand it? But his desire to please Furiosa made him one of the more reliable supporters of the council, and she supposed that showed that Furiosa's choices had been worth it.)

"Tribune Dag."

Huh. So he'd remembered that. It momentarily threw her off, but then she remembered what she'd sought him out for.

She dug in the cargo pocket of her trousers, noticing his uneasy attention, half on her face, half on her hand. His muscles tensed and corded. Wait, did he think she had a weapon? Did he think she would hurt him, just like that?

She'd been so worried about her own safety around the warboys, and that of her sisters, that it had never occurred to her they might be wary in return. What did this man have to fear of her? What could she possibly do to him?

"Here." She thrust her hand at him, and he blinked when he saw she was holding something green.

His hand came up slowly to accept what she was offering.

"Thank you, Tribune," he said, with no inflection to indicate if he was pleased or surprised or anything, really.

"It's called Aloe," she blurted. "You put the sap on—" she started gesturing at him, then broke off at his reflexive hand-twitch in the direction of a hand flying toward him, and indicated her own shoulders instead. "Where it's red. It helps."

He looked from her to the green thing now cradled carefully in his hand. Rubbed a thumb over the cutting’s surface, felt the sticky sap there. Looked back up at her.

"Thank you, Tribune. That is kind."

She startled a little, because he wouldn't have gotten sunburnt if they hadn't insisted he take off the paint, and she'd expected that to get thrown in her face. Apparently he didn't see it that way. He thought this was kindness, not guilt.

Maybe it _was_ kind? She didn't know how she felt about that.

"If you— if you show the pups, I will bring them some too."

He looked surprised, and that gave her pause. Was it really surprising to him that it mattered to her that they were in pain? But he just nodded slowly.

He waited for her to step back before pushing to his feet, but she still skittered back a few more steps as the bulk of him rose, at just how much space he took up, until she was almost up against the opposite side of the corridor.  When he halted immediately she was struck dumb with the realisation that apparently he didn't _want_ her to be scared or uncomfortable. She hastily walked away, not sure what to think.

 

* * *

 

"They're using mud. From down by the aquifers. Is there any way we can stop them?" Capable said.

"Well Joe used to have the mixers add the lead to make it extra white and stay fixed in place," Gale said. "At least, that's why I hope he did it, or he was even more vile than we thought."

"So there's no lead in the mud? No reason to tell them not to use it?" Toast said.

Gale shook her head.

They looked at each other unhappily

"It doesn't work very well though, does it? It dries and flakes off," Janey said thoughtfully. "So maybe we encourage it for when they have to go into the sun, and they might decide it's too much fuss the rest of the time."

"I think that's going to work better than trying to take it away from them," Capable said.

Dag looked unhappy.

"Here's an interesting thing," Janey said after a long moment. "After I was done giving the self defence lesson to the mothers this morning, there was somebody waiting for me. One of the older warpups, Rett."

"Oh?"

"Asked if he could join the lessons."

“But the lessons are ours!” Toast shot out. Dag was cringing back and nodding, fingers taut against Cheedo’s.

"Who is 'us,' would you say?"

"Us. And the milking mothers. The women from the breeder court."

"Rett is about your size," Janey nodded at Toast. "They're not all big lads. Some of them need our sort of techniques to not be vulnerable."

“Just by being war boys, they’re not vulnerable,” Toast shot back, “The system protects them.”

"Did you meet Oti?" Cheedo said softly. And the Dag blinked at her.

“Did you meet Razor, or Kukri?” Gilly spoke up, from where she was listening, towards the back.

Toast opened her mouth and then closed it, thinking. Said, “No, I haven’t met them, but if you’re implying what I think you’re implying… what I said is still true. The Citadel protects them."

"The Citadel protected those who harmed them, too; protected them more."

"Outliers. They may not be things but _we_ have a right to feel safe.”

"If you want to make the Citadel _one_... not just a place but a people," Vicky said slowly, "I don't think it's a good idea to split people into those who have a right to feel safe and those who will have to fend for themselves. Everyone has a right to safety."

"If you don't want them in your lesson," Gilly nodded to Janey, "I can give a separate one."

“But then they’ll still know what we know,” Dag muttered sullenly, "Can't the Ace teach them? Or Furiosa's other crew."

"They are running ragged organizing the fighters we have. I've got time to teach the young ones, and the rest as needs it," Gilly said. "We've got a war party bearing down on us." she gestured at the window, and her eyes looked as if she were far away, somewhere deep in the desert maybe, or in the past, or both. "I think that if we don't start treating everybody here as if they're on our side, they never will be."

“How could you know that though.” Toast said, “You haven’t lived here, haven’t observed how the Citadel works, haven’t—”

“ _Because of what was the Green Place_.” Gilly broke in. “You’ve spent most of your lives locked up in the Vault, circling your backs to each other because everyone else was the enemy, but you’re out of the Vault now and you _must_ find allies. You can't run this place while considering half of who lives here your enemy."

She took in the large eyes of the sisters.

"We spent ten years watching our people slowly dwindle in the desert because we couldn't see anybody as potential allies.“

“Maybe the Green Place would have still soured.” Dag said. “Even without internal fighting.”

“I’m talking about us seeking allies out of the Green, _after_ the souring." Gilly retorted, “I’m talking about watching Keeper trying and trying to plant her seeds and not finding any such place for them to take root. But we’re here now, this place with water. And maybe seeds.”

"You need to give their trust a place to take root and to grow," Gale said.

" _Which trust?_ " Dag asked sharply.

"The trust that came and asked if I would teach them," Janey said. "And the trust that washed off their paint because we told them it was toxic."

"I gave the Ace some Aloe," Dag said consideringly. "For his sunburn. I think he was really surprised."

“That aloe worked like that?" Capable asked, “Or that you gave it to him?”

“Yeah,” Dag replied, not looking at anyone. “That.”

Capable set her jaw and looked at Gilly, “I can’t speak for anyone else, but I would like it if anyone _that asked politely_ for lessons be given them. If we don't offer them strength, the war party might. And I can’t help but feel that it’ll do them good to get to know more of the Many Mothers.”

Gilly took a glance around at the array of faces, conflicted and uncertain and scared, but said, “Alright then. Again, I’ll be hosting a separate session. They don’t have to disrupt this space of yours.”

Cheedo spoke up suddenly, “I want to be in the session you’d like to teach. And maybe… Gilly, I have some questions, well, _concerns_ that. That...”

“We can speak of it later,” Gilly said, and Cheedo looked relieved but still nervous and distant.

 

* * *

 

"Boss, think there might be trouble brewin'."

"Always is," Furiosa sighed. "All right, what'd you hear?"

"Treb says Lance has been hanging around the new boys, trying to get them dissatisfied."

"Hmm."

"If he's gonna do anything, it's when we can least stand it, during the siege. Lance knows that if the Imperator that's coming somehow comes out on top, he might make Imperator himself."

"We should just fucking shoot him, but he probably already has a few supporters," Furiosa said, thinking it over.

"Probably," Ace agreed. "I've asked Austeyr and Kompass to spend time with the new boys, don't leave them too open for Lance's influence."

“It should be brought up during Council.” Furiosa looked at Ace and found herself so relieved that they were at this point again, bouncing ideas and experience off each other. Without Ace those long days when so much was happening in the Citadel was like walking around blind, feeling herself forward and not having enough eyes on things, especially when people kept insisting she stay bed-bound and resting.

 

* * *

 

"Great, Marienny, if you and your group can take care of the sand buckets for fire control?"

Furiosa listened to the Council that night, as topics moved through concerns about the preparation and defense against the incoming war parties, wondering if all this was flexible enough to withstand attacks from within as well. They need to bring up the concerns about Lance sooner rather than later.

"We'll get the pups to help us," Marienny nodded.

"We'll make sure the milking room is ready to be nursery for all the youngest," Britt said. "It's the most easily secured."  The two women nodded at each other. Many of the former breeders wanted to help defend the Citadel, if their children would be safe during it. Or at least as safe as they could be made.

"Now, Furiosa, you said you had something?"

Furiosa looked at Kompass, who nodded at her and began speaking.

“...and we’re pretty sure Lance is leading them.” Kompass finished off his list of names. “We’re keeping an eye on them but we all think that he’s going to make a move once the war parties arrive.”

“Why is this the first we’ve heard of this?” Toast asked, “Did it develop so soon after those war boys arrived? Did they bring it with them?”

Max looked disturbed and flickered his gaze around, landing on Gilly and Vicks. “Thought... those who were bringing the jaw back. Thought I took care of them.”

“No, it started before you came back,” Cheedo said, looking up, “They, they were already meeting up before.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?” Furiosa said, voice sharp.

Dag added, “This is not a secret to be kept. We’re in danger.”

Cheedo glanced at Ace, at Furiosa, at Kompass, “With how unsettled things were… Those who were giving me the information are in even more danger.”

“But we could have been preparing." Furiosa had settled back, looking more thoughtful than her tone conveyed.

“We’re _already_ preparing! But what we needed to know is what they’re planning to do, and who the rest of them were. And we can’t find that out if they think they’re being watched.” And now she took a breath and straightened her back, “You’re missing five names by the way, of those who’re following Lance.”

Kompass came to attention and focused on her in a way that was maybe a little unsettling. “What. Which five?”

"Um—" Cheedo faltered at the sudden intensity of the warboy. He was very big, leaning toward her, and his scars stood in sharp, gruesome  contrast on his torso. They looked much more alarming without white paint. She reared back in her seat just slightly, but named the five and she barely finished before he was rising.

But he seemed to realize something and sat back down. “You mentioned trying to know what they’re doing. You have their plans?”

“Y-yeah.” she glanced at Furiosa, but the older women didn't interfere. Apparently Cheedo was expected to deal with this warboy directly. “The person watching for me, he says Lance is generally a hot-head."

Kompass nodded,and Cheedo felt her courage gather at the attentive way he listened, gave weight to her words.

"I think if given the chance he would meet up with the war parties. We can take advantage of that…” As she further outlined her thoughts she didn't notice Furiosa's look of approval.

 

* * *

 

“I think you’re moving too fast. Too obviously,” Oti said quietly.

“You think they’d notice? Breeders are all too dumb for that and that Imperator leans on her crew to notice things _for_ her." Lance felt sweat trickle down his spine but held his bravado like a fizzing thunderstick. He tried to ignore the Fixer’s gaze. He knew the man was watching from around the corner, evaluating him, weighing him for how many supplies to give to their cause. He stood up straighter.

If he could give the war party the Citadel, he'd make Imperator for sure. Maybe even Prime. Have everyone indebted to him, even the Fixer. That man would not be pushing him so hard to be better if he didn’t have need of him, Lance was sure of it.

“But you say the Ace saw you with those breeders, and the way I hear it she took him back into her bed."

“I hear she made that Wastelander her new Ace instead.” Lance snorted, “Everyone has to get their axle greased, just because Ace still gets Used doesn't mean she listens to him. It doesn’t mean a thing of his standing. You listen to the breeders you plug?”

The war boys around him laughed and settled down, sharing the extra aqua cola and food he’d swiped for them, and Lance didn’t think he’d have any trouble being Prime. He understood these war boys and how to make them fight for him and how to take care of them. How to make their hearts light.

There’s little enough of that in this Wasteland.

Lance felt the eyes move away from him and he sighed in relief. That probably meant the Fixer was satisfied.They’ll have support. If they didn't defend their place, those breeders would have them all thrown out into the wastes without so much as paint to protect them.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Lucky she didn't break yer nose, man," Kompass grunted.

Max had spent the day evaluating defense positions in the West tower, mostly on his own. Well… in the unwelcome company of the Organic Mechanic, who had gained in death a persistence that no living person could have possessed. By the end of the day Max was frayed and exhausted, ready to bolt out of the Citadel and disappear into the Wasteland if he hadn't been so sure the OM would stick with him. Out there in the silence it might be even worse.

He finished up his round and headed back to the council room, clenching his teeth as he crossed one of the air bridges with the Organic Mechanic screaming in his face.

_You're gonna be sorry when the wounded start pouring in, gonna have to just watch 'em die without me, bloodbag! Bleeding yourself dry won’t be enough…_

Max flinched away and tried to shake the image away and it came loose, finally, being able to blink it away.

What he saw after was Furiosa was sitting with Gilly and Vicks, and Max felt a wash of pleasure at the thought that he'd been able to bring her two more of her people. She'd lost her green place, but at least there were enough of the Vuvalini to bring their knowledge here, their stories. They were talking together quietly, but the cadence of Furiosa's voice carried, and he focused on it.

The Mechanic continued speaking but it was like his words increasingly came from very far away and Max watched the man curiously as he got more and more red-faced from his screaming.

He blinked, again, and headed towards Furiosa.

After reporting to her, Max drifted to the window in the council room, not keen to step away from whatever buffer she created to let him have some peace from that ghost.

At some point Kompass came in to report his own findings, arms full of a giant pot of stew for the council members and bookended by Austeyr and Rachet with their own armfuls of bowl-like things, mealworm biscuits, and buckets of water. They handed out a few bowls, and four or five people would gather around it with their spoons.

Max waited for everyone to pick theirs, but found himself surprised when the crew made up a last bowl, from the looks of it formerly a piece of car bumper, and headed towards him. He watched with quiet surprise as they settled by him in the wide window ledge, offering him a spoon, passing over a biscuit.

Rachet set the bowl down where everyone could reach.

The crew chatted quietly while they ate, about defenses and training war pups and what they thought the warparty would be like when it arrived. When it was quiet for a moment, Max cleared his throat.

"Why, um, why would Ace tell me not to…" Max gestured in the direction of Furiosa chatting with Gilly, "to— erm, to touch her?"

Austeyr frowned at him.

"When?"

"Yesterday, after I, hmm, got here. After you and—" he handwaved at Kompass, "brought her to her quarters."

"It's... well, Ace's job to make sure new crew don't… Make her uncomfortable."

Oh. Max barely had memory of the moment he'd came in, beyond the sudden relief from the ghost's silence and the sight of her. He supposed maybe it had been kind of…

"Sometimes with new crew she'll go all..." Austeyr gestured at his face, made wide eyes, a frozen expression. "And ya didn't exactly give her time or space to stop ya."

"Lucky she didn't break yer nose, man," Kompass grunted.  

Max dimly saw himself clamp his hands around her head, her startled expression.

_Oh. Yes._

He'd barely paid attention to Ace afterward, attention still on Furiosa getting swept out of the room as if she needed protection from him. Now he remembered the man's slanted expression, the words _can't just touch her like that._

He'd thought the man was jealous, and perhaps he was, but he hadn't been trying to get Max away from Furiosa - he'd been trying to teach him _better_. Trying to make sure he didn't make Furiosa uncomfortable. Maybe even make him better crew? And that had been _before_ Furiosa had reassured Ace that he hadn't been replaced, that she still wanted him as her Ace.

He wondered how a culture so steeped in disposing of people when they had stopped being useful could have created a man so keen to make people better than they were.

* * *

 

Rachet followed Aus and Kompass, arms around a corner of bumper with the edges folded up and sanded to function as a large makeshift bowl. It was stew tonight, which was always nice, and makes more parts of the beans and lizard chewable.

They distributed the meal to the council members, and then the crew’s second-in-command nodded towards the window ledge where the man from the wasteland sat.

Austeyr went over quickly enough, but Rachet hung back. He was still unsure around the stranger, Max, he called himself, who usually looked twitchy and ill at ease, like he didn’t know whether to trust the crew and didn’t know how to react to how they protected their Boss, always double checking like he didn't think her own crew could keep her safe, and that was an _insult,_ that was what it was.

Aus was already talking to the guy in a quiet chatter, “...the pups are learning so quick too, I think a couple are going to turn into good shots, you can always tell by the types of mistakes they make and how they adjust.”

Rachet carefully balanced the bowl on the ledge by the man’s hip and presented a spoon.

Max looked up at him a bit awkwardly and reached to take it out of his hand.

Austeyr nodded and hummed in reply, and then went on to talk about some strangeness when the Wastelander first arrived.

He was frankly confused, Rachet was, with all the humming and wordless sounds, but he trusted Austeyr even if the lancer’s shot had been going wide for awhile ever since he’d started growing friends on his side. Rachet wasn't looking forward to when his own tumors started puffing up, it was always a surprise where they’d appear; with luck they wouldn't affect his usefulness.

Max stared at him, with an increasing furrow on his forehead and Rachet just frowned in return.

Austeyr eyed them both, “Hey Max, you were good with the cushion, back there, yeah?”

“Mngh?”

“Back in the room, on your ledge.”

The man just turned to him with a shrug and a nod.

“Did you know Rachet here fetched it for you?” Austeyr asked innocently.

Kompass, cheeks puffed with chewing, was looking amused  Rachet stuffed another spoonful of stew in his mouth and looked away. Whatever else he might be uncertain of, this man helped get their Boss back to them in one piece, despite the entire war party and the Immortan Joe himself baying for her death, gave her his blood when her death had seemed certain, and somehow finding, in all the vastness of the wasteland, more crew.

Rachet could count. He knew how tentative their position was, how the stress creased the eyes of the women who’d come back with their Imperator. He knew how few War Boys there were in the Citadel now and he’d seen how vicious raiders could be in the quest for water. This man was _important,_ the women had told him so during Tenday.

When Rachet ran the restocking run to the underground mall, him and two of the lesser injured, he'd found himself telling the others, _go ahead, I’ll meet you at the rubber stores,_ pausing at the entrance to the “Sears”. There were still bits and pieces left, after many thousand-days of salvage, and he’d found an almost emptied pillow cover for some chair. Small rips of foam was still inside, shredded, but the cover itself was intact.

And Rachet had started going through the rooms.

The bones of sofas, chairs, mattresses still stood in the graveyard of the store and it echoed as Rachet went through them, examining the struts and leftovers. They still were not completely picked clean. There was still small pieces of softness here and there and he'd spent a good long while gathering them up until the empty cover he had was full.

When he'd sewn it shut with small, careful stitches and brought it back to Furiosa’s room, he'd placed it on the ledge the man liked to sit on and wondered if it would be enough.

“Do you think it’s okay,” Rachet had asked her.

“Better than okay,” Furiosa murmured when she caught sight of it. But she’d been tired and fallen back asleep and Rachet had chosen to keep all further uncertainties to himself. She didn’t need his worries.

Max looked at him now, with some surprise, and Rachet swore he would strangle Aus if he mentioned—

“Actually he more like made it.”

Rachet did his best to glare at Austeyr with his face overheating and no paint to hide behind. Maybe he could say it’s just redness from the sun, his head and ears are all pinked anyway, but now his cheeks were also warm with heat. Miss Gale didn't want them to use the paint anymore and he wasn't sure why, just that it was important; and the Boss agreed, so they didn't. But he _hated_ it right now.

Aus’ teeth were extremely white in his grin and if they'd been eating anywhere else but the council room, Rachet would have tackled him. They’re in Council though and representing both Furiosa and the war boys.

His shoulders tried to crawl up around his ears.

"Boss wants you to stay," he mumbled, “Thought that, maybe, if you saw you had a space...”

A new spoon scoops into the bowl. Rachet looked at it. Max was staring at the stew with his mouth twitching, looking inexplicably charmed.

Rachet didn't know what in V8 was so charming about stew unless it was in your belly already.

 _Strange wastelander stray,_ he thought, and jammed his own spoon in his mouth so that he didn’t say anything else incriminating.

Just then Ace walked in, went to Furiosa to report his work of the day. When he was done he looked at the four men on the ledge, then at the level of food in the bowls around the council circle.

Austeyr and Max moved a little to make space on their ledge, and Ace walked over, took the space they'd created for him. Rachet nudged the bowl to where Ace could reach it and handed him a mealworm biscuit. Ace hummed in thanks, the tension seeming to fade from his shoulders, and tucked in.

Austeyr just barreled into another conversation, voice a low murmur as he talked about his day with the War Pups and how Kompass had wanted to stay behind and make sure they get proper rations. Kompass was trying to insert his own comments but his mouth was full and it was mostly incoherent.

Max seemed to understand anyway and grunted his questions and quips.

Rachet watched as Austeyr gestured widely with his loaded spoon, and Max caught his wrist to hold his hand still when it passed near his face, ate the stew that was on the spoon. Austeyr made an outraged noise, and the others laughed.

“Such a _feral._ It's like I found you in the Wasteland.”

Max raised an eyebrow and hummed, amused. Rachet realised the twitchiness of the man seemed to have almost disappeared. He wasn't glancing at empty space all the time anymore like before.

“Mynou wold do th’ samgh.” Kompass muttered around his food, cheeks puffed. “Domph lywe.”

It wasn't not their usual complement of crew, but Rachet knew that most’ve arrived to the gates already. You could only drive the road in front of you, and perhaps their rig now included this man riding on one of their perches.

They’d make it enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of mouth-full speak: "You would do the same. Don't lie."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days were a blur of preparations. They knew the war party was coming, just not when, it could be any moment now and the breathless tension of it got to everybody.
> 
> "You know what we need tonight?" Many said in the morning council meeting. "A story circle."

The days were a blur of preparations. They knew the war party was coming, just not _when_ , it could be any moment now and the breathless tension of it got to everybody.

"You know what we need tonight?" Many said in the morning council meeting. "A story circle."

Gale murmured approvingly. "Bit of distraction for those as want it."

"Shall I do it in the Wheel room? They just moved a lot of benches in there."

"Might as well. The warboys will feel welcome there, I hope?" Gale met Ace's eyes, and he nodded, "and you don't have to bring your little ones up all these stairs."

 

 

* * *

 

Stuffs gave the two women the cloth they'd asked for. Like the former wives, they'd been looking for something more substantial to cover themselves. He was trying hard not to look at them weirdly. He'd never seen anybody with a body even remotely like his, soft and heavy. They were looking around with large eyes, as if everything was new and wonderful, and he supposed it was.

They'd explained how they'd been kept in quarters high up in one of the towers, and he wondered at how they’d been kept if they found his storage and these war boy halls so interesting.

One of them handed over the bottle of milk he'd agreed to trade the cloth and the boots for.

"You have so much here, we'll send some of the others down too, if you're willing to trade for more milk.“

Stuffs nodded. “That’s good trade, it’d be in high demand.” War boys don’t usually get a chance at milk once they’re old enough to walk. He swung the bottles onto his shelves carelessly; the glass was of solid make.

But the ‘clank!’ made the Milkers wince. And when he plopped the boots and cloth onto a table for them to look over he saw the women make a face. It made Stuff’s shoulder rise around his ears.

“Not many treat that so carelessly.” The one named Britt mentioned.

Stuffs just shrugged, not looking at them, and pushed the bottles into a slightly nicer arrangement. There was a horrible screech on the metal. "These are just Things, there’s more valuables.”

“What’s more valuable than milk, than boots, than good clothes?” The milkers pulled the items towards them, admiringly, draping it against themselves.

Stuffs shook his head, they can’t understand. He made to his post again and muttered under his breath, “...freedom.”

“Freedom?”

He started, and glanced behind him and there was the shorter milker, eyes curious. Quiet feet, that one.

She held out the clothes, the boots, “Isn’t that what these are?”

“No?” Stuffs stared at her with incomprehension, “These are just basic—” he broke off, and looked at what they were wearing.

“I guess…” Stuffs looked at the Storage he guarded. “I guess for some.”

“Not for you?” Mellie glanced at his gear.

Stuffs shrugged, uneasy. Lowered his voice because it’s a silly wish, made near impossible because of how large he’d become. “I’d like to, maybe, someday, run. Maybe climb. Maybe even, even just see the horizon again.”

“You haven’t? I would’ve thought—” Mellie looked around at all the luxuries he’d guarded, “Would’ve thought you’d have more than enough chance to.”

“Not for a long time, not once they saw I could grow big. I have to stay here to guard it. They have a bed just inside the door for me, they move it out when it’s time to sleep.”

“…but things have changed. Furiosa’s team is changing things.”

“Enough for me to move, freely? Don’t think I can,” Stuffs shifted, nervous, “I don’t think you can understand it, see what that’s like.”

The two women looked at each other, frowning.

“Why… it’s just stepping out, right?”

And he looked at her, afraid, “But this, this is all I have. What if it’s taken? What’d I have left?” He flung a large arm out, “I can’t do War.”

“Don’t know about that,” Britt huffed. “You look plenty strong and they wouldn’t have set you to guard if you weren’t.”

“And people don’t necessarily need to do War,” Mellie suggested quietly.

Britt glanced at Mellie, who just shrugged at her, jaw set. Then turned back, “How about this: We’ll watch over it for you, while you go take a look.”

It sounded tempting, but Stuffs hesitated for a long long time.

 

* * *

 

Stuffs looked out the window, the sunset was even more amazing than in his memories and he swallowed hard trying to push away the prickle at his eyes. The light in his magazine was brought in via an air channel and mirrors, a sad third-hand light compared to seeing the sky for himself.

 _It was good of the women to offer him this_ , he thinks, maybe he could ask for them to stand for him again?

“It’s good that they trust you,” a voice said casually, from the shadows.

Stuffs pressed his back against the window, wanting safety, darting his eyes around to try to find where that voice came from because it sounded like—

The Fixer skittered his limbs out of the shadows and leaned against a wall near him. “A mediocre sunset this time, for sure, but we can get you out here to see more.”

Stuffs stared at him, and pressed back further against the window, almost not sure if he’d rather just fall out.

“Ask for them to hold your post tomorrow morning. Say you want to watch the sunrise.”

“Will…” Stuffs swallowed, not sure what the Fixer wanted out of him, and not sure he’d be able to provide, “Will I get to see it? The sunrise?” If he couldn’t provide for the Fixer, would the man decide that Stuffs was better… replaced?

“We’ll have the meeting in a room with a window,” the Fixer promised. “There’s some people that I think we should all talk to, get us all on the same page.”

Stuffs nodded quickly, not really thinking, just wanting the man to go away.

When he did, Stuffs went quickly back to his post, and found the milkers there. They seemed light-hearted and chatting with some of the newly named Tribunes, and when they looked to him, they’d included him in their smiles and their conversations. But to be honest Stuffs’ mind was only half there.

He was not sure what tomorrow morning might bring, but his gut told him he would regret it.

He wanted to watch the dawn, though.

 

* * *

 

When the story circle was about to begin, Max found a comfortable corner, not too near anybody he didn't know, and settled in to listen. It wasn't that he was particularly eager to hear storytelling, but the ghost was easier to ignore in a crowd.

The breeders were talking among themselves, figuring out an order from what he could hear, and the Organic Mechanic was sleazing all up close to his ear, making disgusting comments about them. He knew way more about their bodies than Max ever wanted to hear.

He flinched, almost banging his head against the wall and a voice spoke up next to him.

“Thought it was just around being people but that’s not it, is it?”

Max whipped his head over to look and Toast was staring at the altar.

She flicked her gaze up and Max looked away.

“Nnph,” he agreed, shrugging. “You, ah, you…”

“I know, I know. Probably should be practicing more, aiming, self defense. Or working out where everyone’s going to hole up, during the siege, how to make sure there’s enough supplies. Enough food, aqua-cola, bullets.” Toast jaw worked.

Max shook his head. He’d been trying to figure out what she knew of his… oddness. The Organic was hovering around her now and his eyebrow twitched with the effort to not reach over and try to brush him away from her. “Don’t havta do all that yourself.”

“Don’t I?” She nodded over at the edge of the altar room. “They seem to be too busy handling those boys of Lance’s.”  

Max could see Austeyr and Kompass over there, talking with war boys, both new and old. Bits of conversation drifted to them:

“Just come to have a listen.”

"Got stuck with taking the pups here."

"I was bored."

“Don't care about being told stories like pups.”

“We’re having dinner being passed around during, you don’t want to miss that, do you?”

“Well…”

“Bean cakes and some extra greens they’re all concerned about going off.”

“Greens? For _war boys_? That’s how they do it now?”

“Yeah the Tribunes say they have too much in the stores. Joe normally just let it go bad and then threw it away, but they want it to be eaten.”

“Oh, well, I guess I could stay for some of that.”

Max turned to Toast and murmured, “Should stay and show our support.”

Toast sat down next Max, jiggling her cargo pockets to settle the contents. “Yeah, give the women some numbers.” She nodded as if to convince herself.

The war boys lingered around the walls and the doors, unwilling to go closer towards the center where the women and pups clustered.

Many stepped up towards the altar into a golden beam of lamplight and cleared her throat, “I know it’s not Tenday, but we thought that Tendays should be used for Remembrance only, for Death. When it’s not Tenday, let our stories be for Life.” She paused, screwed up her face a little, “well there may be some death in there too but y’can’t really get around that can you?”

“ ‘In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit…'"

“What’s a ‘hobbit’?” One of the war boys in the back scoffed.

“Well just listen and find out.”

"'Not a dry, bare sandy hole, but something nicely hacked out into the rock, cool in the day and warm in the nighttime, with even a trickle of water in the back. It was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort—’ ”

She told them about a History Man in grey robes, and Dwarves, and people eating the Hobbit's food - to murmurs of 'those schlangers! - and about a long journey. When Many’s voice got tired, another of the women stepped up and continued, and by that time a few war boys had tentatively stepped closer and sat down.

“ _Where did you go to, if I may ask?' said The Imperator to Gandalf the History Man as they rode along._

_To look ahead,' said he._

_And what brought you back in the nick of time?'_

_Looking behind,' said he.”_

 

Max heard the whispers from the war boys near him:

‘The story’s a strange one.’

‘That Bilbo is so mediocre.’

‘But kinda funny.’

‘What about the dwarves though...’

'She said the Elves rode their bikes better than even Rock Riders..'

Dag, who was sitting with Capable and some of the Vuvalini, was getting stares every time the elves were described.

 

Max noticed that nobody left and more seemed to crowd in around the doorways. They switched through the speakers as the women got tired, or decided another would tell a part of the story better, and eventually—

“What’s a Dragon?” a pup asked.

“Well!" the storyteller exclaimed with wide eyes. "A Dragon’s a lizard! But it's as big as _three_ war rigs, and it has a flamethrower built in, and a roar like a V12 engine.”

“A Vee-TWELVE?”

"And it _flies_."

The kids gasped.

"When it flaps its wings it sounds like..." she spread her arms and as she moved them her cloth wrap flapped. The shadows around the room were huge, and she made a sound something like a loud swooshing. The pups - and more than a few others - gasped.   

"Chrome!"

They had to take a brief pause as some pups got up to start chasing each other with arms spread.

When the food finally came, both war boys and war pups had to be reminded to eat. And Max discovered the Mechanic was nowhere to be found.

 

* * *

 

"Hello," said Corpus said into the gloom, eyes and ears fine to the sound and the feel of motion behind him. He'd always had guards around, but he wouldn't have survived as he had if he didn't also have strategic mirrors, and tells placed around the room. A shiny bit of tin that would move from displaced air, an open flame that wavered when somebody moved, a hollow in the stone to amplify steps. Mirrors visible to anyone, and others smaller and hidden.

A black-robed figure appeared silently next to his chair.

"Come to end me?"

"I did not fight to be able to give you that surgery just to disprove myself about your survival now," Feng said.

“Didn’t seem to much care about my survival either way.” Corpus muttered.

"You think I had options?"

“Doesn't matter, now. You’ve come here, too, to ask where I lean?” The meetings he’d been having with the Fixer and Stuffs, with his gatekeepers and the war boy representatives, they left him feeling a mixture of on-edge and uneasy. It was difficult to admit because the plans were nothing that Corpus hadn’t thought of himself, they were nothing but logical.

“So popular…”

“Does it surprise you?”

"No." she chuckled, a rusty little sound. “Old Joe was always charismatic. Ribs still holding up?”

“You do good work.” His bones had always been brittle, prone to fracture; when his ribs had begun collapsing in on themselves in his early teens he’d had to get surgery to get them braced with metal rods. It hadn't been an option, nobody who could do it, until suddenly there had been somebody, looking at him with sad eyes. It had been the first time he'd met her that he could remember, and she'd disappeared again after, never to be mentioned by his Pa. He hadn't seen her since.

“I know,” she replied modestly. He’d lifted an eyebrow at the disconnect between her words and her tone, still not understanding this woman he’d only known of through his recovery period in the Vault, twelve years ago. Miss Giddy had cared for him, gave him his history, explained who had operated on him and told him some stories with fondness; but also that the current wives weren’t to know of Feng, that he was never to speak of her.

"It's good to have my infirmary back."

“I’ll make sure you keep it.” Corpus promised.

“You say that, do you.” Feng replied with bitterness. “Do you think I can’t keep it _myself_?”

“Just thought you could do with a bit of help—”

“Do you think I need _your_ help, oh son of Immortan Joe?”

He didn’t know quite what to say to not antagonize her further, “It would be in my best interests if you’re well stocked, wouldn’t it?”

Feng settled back onto her heels. “There’s that, I suppose. Is that the terms then, an infirmary for treatment if you come out on top? Are you going to be putting any bounds on what I can control within those walls?” There was something dismissive in her eyes, and he had no doubt she'd had this conversation with the council. Corpus saw that she thought him self-serving, his father's son, and that made him tired, because she was only half-wrong.

But being half-right would be enough to make her feel entirely justified; this woman who was so used to fighting.

“No bounds on what you will control. I know nothing of healing.”

“It’s agreed then.”

“Yeah.”

She nodded curtly and walked out, and Corpus brushed a hand over the thick scar on his chest as he watched her go in his mirrors.

"Thank you, Ma."

He saw her falter slightly. Straighten.

And continue walking away.

 

* * *

 

"You know she's gonna end up in the middle of it," Ace said, eying up the Wastelander. He was— well he was meant to be crew now, wasn't he? And it was up to Ace to make that work. He wouldn't be like a warboy falling in with the crew, drilled from pup to follow orders. Ace had no way to tell if the man would follow an order he didn't like. At least one coming from anybody but Furiosa.

This was not the time to test it. So Ace tried to maneuver this careful, "And they will be gunning for her."

"Hmm," Max agreed, shifting uneasily at the thought.

"You're an all right shot with her rifle, ar'ntcha?"

"Mm. Not as good as she is."

Well, few were. The crew'd had no training with long guns, rifles being too sparse for giving to warboys. Ace himself had only had limited training. He was good with his grenade launcher, and they could all shoot pistols, but shooting the SKS at this distance was a different story. He decided that setting the situation up with as much chance of success was better than testing the man on his suitability as crew.

"We'll be her defence squad. Keep some distance, intercept anybody coming for her," Ace decided, eying him. "You stick by her side."

Which was, as far as Ace could tell, where the man wanted to be - no order followed better than an order to do what somebody was already intending to do. Ace was confident it was an order that would be followed. Besides that, it made sense for Furiosa's direct backup to be able to handle her weapon in a pinch. He'd be able to could trade off with her if needed. The siege wouldn't be over in a few hours; even the Boss would see the sense in taking breaks.

Max glanced up at Ace in surprise, apparently trying to see if he was serious.

"Okay," he nodded finally, eyes already skittering away.

"Counting on you to make sure she doesn't run herself into the ground, yeah?" Ace added. Wanting to be very clear that was part of Max's job. _Don't make me regret trusting you with this._

"Yeah. Okay," Max murmured, eyes on the ground.

Ace gave him a narrow look at the easy agreement, this stunted Wasteland feral. Part of the crew maybe, but not a warboy. Did his word mean anything? Was he up to the orders given? Could he focus enough to keep on task? Ace hadn't failed to notice the way he kept flinching at thin air, occasionally seemed to be trying to swipe something away from beside him, as if he were hearing voices, seeing things.

The man finally met his gaze. "Yeah. I'll, um, keep her safe. From—" he gestured around, "and herself."

It was not like the firm response Ace preferred to have from crew, but he supposed it was as much as he would get from this man.

"Good."

 

* * *

 

It was almost a relief when the light of the next morning brought dust plumes on the horizon.

"Oh, thank you, gods. I was about to go crazy," Toast announced, "with all this waiting."

You'll learn this is what s like, 'hurry up and wait' " Janey said to the girl, amused.

"What does that even _mean_?" Toast frowned.

"You rush a lot to spend most of your time waiting."

"And the fighting?"

"Oh, well, that bit happens fast."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story being references is obviously The Hobbit, which we felt was appropriate given it was about reclaiming a mountain that had a monster inside
> 
> Re: the idea that Joe probably threw a lot of food away: "An estimated 25 – 40% of food grown, processed and transported in the US will never be consumed. " We figured Joe probably preferred composting food rather than feed it to those unworthy'


End file.
